


The Problem

by deadinderry



Category: Metallica
Genre: M/M, Not much but it's there, Period-Typical Homophobia, implied kirk/cliff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-26
Updated: 2019-10-14
Packaged: 2020-05-20 00:23:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 11,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19366561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deadinderry/pseuds/deadinderry
Summary: At least it wasn't his mistake this time--but God, it was hard to see Kirk get reamed out like that.





	1. The Problem

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't written any sort of fanfiction in years and what do I do, I start writing fucking Metallica fanfiction. Goddam.

            They were doing fine until “For Whom the Bell Tolls.”

            Jason was still doing fine on “For Whom the Bell Tolls”—he’d practiced the songs enough, he’d sure as _hell_ better been doing fine—and James did fine on “For Whom the Bell Tolls”, and even Lars did fine on “For Whom the Bell Tolls.” The problem was Kirk. Jason didn’t know what it was, he’d been fine most of the night, maybe missed a note here or there but he hadn’t royally fucked anything up.

            Until “For Whom the Bell Tolls.”

            Jason could see James cutting glares at Kirk the entire time, and for every song afterward. Afterward, Kirk got his footing back and he played the rest of the show with his face turned to the ground, the slight bobbing of his head the only indication that he wasn’t just a robot running through the songs. Jason got close enough to get a look at his face and there was high color in his cheeks, his jaw clenched so tight it seemed like he was in danger of breaking those big ol’ fucked up teeth right out.

            Not that anyone in the audience _really_ noticed; there were a couple of moments, mostly on solos, where there was some awkward deadness to parts of the crowd, but it was late enough in the set that everyone was drunk enough and excited enough that they could close over it—fuckin’ hell, this was _Metallica._ So they finished out strong as ever, and when they headed back, Jason tensed. He didn’t know for what. He didn’t know what James was going to do; if he was just going to fucking leave, if he was going to confront Kirk, if he was going to yell at Jason for no reason other than, hey, Newkid (because he _knew_ those songs, and he _hadn’t fucked up_ ), or what. It hadn’t been a very big show. It was one of Jason’s first, with them, and they were kind of easing him in.

            Nice of them, he guessed.

            Once they got backstage, James turned around and crossed his arms.

            Christ, Jason could practically _hear_ Kirk gulp. “Sorry,” Kirk said. Then he tried to brush past him, turning his head down again, and James moved to block him. “I—I’m sorry. I know. I know. I fucked up about a million times. Believe me, I know.”

            “Even the fucking new kid did better than you,” James said. “What, is it 1983? You just join up, Hammett?”

            “I fucking _know,_ all right?” Kirk said. He took a step back, and Jason moved out of his way. He exchanged a look with Lars, who grimaced and then very quickly busied himself with drying himself off. That looked like a good idea, so Jason copied him, stealing glances at the scene every few moments. “I—I just, it just—”

            “I don’t want to hear those shitty excuses that are about to come out of your mouth,” James said. Kirk took another step back, and James matched him. Jason had a distinct feeling that Kirk was going to get hit, which couldn’t be right. That would be super fucked up. Like, sure, fooling around and stuff, sometimes someone gets hurt—but a full-on punch as punishment?

            Jason really hoped that his instincts were wrong on this one. Thing was, Kirk was _small._ You couldn’t tell as easy looking up at him onstage, but Kirk, while not as short as Lars, was a small guy. Skinny. And looked about fifteen years old. And James was a decent-sized guy. Topped six feet, at least. And he wasn’t as skinny as Kirk.

            “Whatever,” Kirk said. “Whatever. I know. I know. I’ll—I’ll run through it a couple more times, I’ll—”

            “You should know that song by now, it’s two albums old.”

            “I do know it, it’s just—” and then it was Kirk that brought him into it, which is not what Jason was expecting, because Kirk can be almost nice sometimes. He really only gets into it when the other two are around. The couple times it was just him and Kirk, it was kind of nice. Kirk was a lot more of a dork than he’d expected—sure, he’d seen posters and everything with Kirk and the comics, but the thing about Kirk Hammett, he was _really_ into comics. And horror movies. And guitars. And would talk at length about any of the above subjects if you gave him an in. “He played it differently than Cliff would’ve.”

            “I played it right,” Jason said. “I played it like—”

            “Technically, it was right,” Kirk said. “Yeah. Okay. You match the album pretty well. But it was—it was different. You guys had to have felt that it was different.”

            James glanced over at Jason, and Jason took a step back out of instinct. He knew that he shouldn’t give in to any of this shit, but sometimes he did. Especially when James was in the mood to go after more than just Jason, because if he was in the mood to go after everyone, who _knew_ what he’d be in the mood to do to Jason. But James switched back to Kirk.

            “He’s the new bass player,” James said. “We gotta fucking deal with it whether we like it or not.”

            And then he knocked past Kirk, hard enough to send him back another few steps. Lars had slipped out sometime; Jason had been too wrapped up in whether he was going to witness felony assault to keep track of him, and Kirk stood there for a few seconds before shaking his head and heading for the towels.

            Jason hesitated, and then said: “What are you gonna do tonight?”

            Kirk glanced at him. “Probably go home and drink alone.” They played a show pretty close to home that night. Close enough to catch a taxi or something, at least.

            “Sorry,” Jason said.

            Kirk shook his head. “No, I—you’re lucky James didn’t take the bait I was throwing him, chucking you under the bus like that. It was shitty of me to do, but I just—”

            “I probably do play it different, though.”

            “Yeah,” Kirk said. “But I know my part, why should I be so wrapped up in what you’re doing that it—whatever. Go have fun. Millions of girls out there who want some of that new bass player.”

            “Millions of girls out there who don’t know I’m the new bass player,” Jason said. Kirk grimaced. “I go out with you guys and all you guys are getting crowded and it’s like, fuck, who’s that weirdo who keeps hanging around them?”

            “They’ll figure it out,” Kirk said. He waved a hand. “Fuck, man, you’re cute enough, you shouldn’t have to be the bass player in Metallica to get girls.”

            Jason shook his head. “Whatever, Mister I’m-so-pretty-even-the-guys-have-to-look-twice.”

            Kirk turned kind of red again. “Shut up.”

            They stood in silence for a couple of seconds. Eventually, Kirk sighed and said, “Do you wanna come watch a monster movie, then?”

* * *

 

            Two hours later, they were both well on their way to hammered, there was some old black-and-white monster movie on the TV, and Kirk kept interrupting their conversation to direct his attention back to said monster movie on the TV, which Jason guessed was kind of cool but didn’t really give that much of a shit about. “—and then, dead!” Kirk said. He cracked another beer as he said so. “God, I love that movie so much. Me and Cliff used to—”

            He cut off. He was getting sloppier, the more he drank, about referencing Cliff. Thing was Jason didn’t hear Cliff’s name out of Kirk’s mouth all that often. There were a lot of comparisons, all the time, of his and Cliff’s playing. Which he got why they did, even if they were a little way fucking mean about it sometimes. But Kirk never talked about what him and Cliff Burton had used to do when they hung out. None of them really did, at least not to him. The only thing he’d gotten out of them about Cliff was what Lars had said once: “Girls like Kirk because he’s the prettiest motherfucker on the planet—” At which point he grabbed at Kirk’s crotch and Kirk side-stepped him like it was a daily occurrence. “—me because I’m so fucking smooth, and James because he’s the frontman, I guess. But they liked Cliff because he had just. This massive cock.”

            So Jason hadn’t really pressed any of them for more details.

            Lars had been pretty fucking drunk when he’d said all of that, too. Not that Jason would put it past him to say or do any of that sober, because, he was quickly learning, Lars was really fucking weird.

            But Kirk looked like he might say more, and Jason wasn’t exactly the therapist type, but Kirk really looked like he wanted to talk about his feelings. Which Jason found kind of weird. But Kirk was pretty…

            Well.

            Sensitive.

            “What’d you guys do?” Jason asked. He winced a little bit when he heard his own voice, because it sounded dismissive even to his drunk ass.

            “He was into this horror shit, too,” Kirk said. He leaned into Jason to pull something out of the couch. A book. “He read a lot, too, like, he’d use all these words none of us even _knew_ , you know? Lovecraft and whatever. The guy was so goddam smart. But we used to watch this movie all the time.”

            Kirk let out a long breath. It shuddered, a little, at the end, and Jason started to get briefly alarmed that he was going to have to deal with a drunk, crying Kirk Hammett. He did not know if he could deal with a drunk, crying Kirk Hammett.

            “I was reading a little bit,” Kirk said. “Last night. I just, I thought it would like, I dunno. I miss him a lot.” He said. He nodded a few times, and then looked at Jason. “You’re all right.”

            “Thanks,” Jason said. He had the feeling that he needed to be drunker for this conversation.

            If Kirk had been a little soberer, he probably would have apologized. But he wasn’t so he didn’t. He just nodded like he was expecting the response and got up to rewind the movie. He stumbled a little on his way back. “Jason?” he said.

            “What.”

            “Could you—could you stay tonight? I mean like—” Kirk hesitated. “You know what I mean.”

            Jason really didn’t know how he could mean anything other than ‘stay over’, but he nodded like he did. “Yeah,” he said.

            Because if he was going to get an ally in this band, it was probably going to be Kirk Hammett, and there was no use in leaving  him alone and drunk and sad. That was the kind of shit that got people killed.


	2. The Problem II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kirk and Jason have a talk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was gonna be a one-shot. Turned into not. I'm assuming that it's going to stay a two-parter, but I could be wrong.

When Jason woke up, he had no clue where he was. He felt last night at the back of his throat and hair like, right up on his face, and he wrinkled his nose and thought maybe, for a second, he’d actually gotten some the night before when he realized the person curled into him with their head on his chest was just Kirk.

Right, he was at Kirk’s.

He shifted and Kirk mumbled something, pushed himself off of Jason’s chest, and looked at him uncomprehendingly for a few moments, then nodded, stood up, and very calmly walked into the other room and puked. Jason heard a, “ _Fuck_ ,” and then Kirk was back, wiping at the back of his mouth with his hand.

“Sorry I fell asleep on you,” Kirk said. He frowned. “You coulda woke me up.”

“I was sleeping, too,” Jason said. He tried to stand up and failed. He’d pretty much been asleep sitting up, crushed into one corner of the couch, and that, mixed with thrashing around onstage all night, wasn’t doing great things for his back. So he sat there for a couple seconds, cracked his back over the arm of the couch, and tried again. “I just woke up. Believe me, I would’ve shoved you off if I’d been conscious.”

Kirk cracked a grin—a regular, goofy, Kirk Hammett kind of grin that made it pretty impossible to be any amount of pissed at him. “You hungry?”

“Man, you treat all your one night stands this well?” Jason asked. It was a joke, but Kirk stopped short and looked at him. “What?”

“I didn’t—I mean—I don’t remember that much about last night, I drank a lot, and if I—you know if I ever get drunk and try something, you can just—”

“Jesus, Kirk,” Jason said. “It was a joke.”

Kirk calmed down almost visibly. “Shoulda guessed that, I guess,” he said. He grinned, a little, again, but he looked more embarrassed than anything. “You just didn’t strike me as the kind of guy who would let me sleep on him all night.”

“I’m full of surprises, I guess.” 

* * *

 

They met up with Lars at around one. Lars raised an eyebrow when he saw Jason in last night’s clothes. “So that’s where you went,” he said. He was eating something that looked pretty disgusting, so Jason didn’t ask what it was. Kirk slid into the booth next to him and took the next bite right out of his hands, though. “Sorry about ditching you last night, I had somewhere to be. You know. People to see.”

Jason felt like he was very much just talking to Kirk on this, because he knew that Lars did not give a _shit_ if he abandoned Jason or not (because all three of them have abandoned Jason), and he lowered himself gingerly into the booth across. He figured that being with Kirk would make it at least semi-alright.

“Jason watched a monster movie with me last night, so, I have a new favorite,” Kirk said, and then promptly choked on whatever Lars was eating. “ _Christ,_ what the fuck is this?”

Lars said something unpronounceable, and Kirk shook his head.

“I should know better by now, unless it’s something I know right off the top of my head,” he said. “You eat the grossest—”

“So you’re watching monster movies with him, now?” Lars asked. Jason shifted. Another conversation he felt like he should be absolutely shitfaced to be in. “Man, you move fast. What’s next, you calling up Scott and scoring some weed and—”

“Lars—”

“He’s not Cliff,” Lars said.

“I know,” Kirk said.

Jason really felt like he should not be witnessing this, but he didn’t say anything. If he said something, Lars would probably acknowledge him, and by acknowledge him, he meant tell him to get the fuck out. Even though it was a public place and he could be there if he fucking wanted to. So instead he focused on Lars’s plate. If he focused on Kirk, he’d feel bad, if he focused on Lars, he’d feel awkward and out-of-place. So he focused on…

Whatever-the-fuck.

“Then why are you acting like he is?”

Kirk opened his mouth, shut it, and shook his head. “I’m not.”

“Yeah, you are. Watching monster movies with him?”

“Oh, just because the rest of you just don’t want to—Cliff was just the only one who _would_ , willingly, all the time, and I think Jase just felt bad for me—”

“Oh, so Newkid’s Jase now—”

“I really think I should go,” Jason said, standing up so abruptly his knees hit the table and jarred Whatever-the-fuck. Both Lars and Kirk looked up at him. Kirk’s eyes were wide and a little panicked, and Lars just looked—pissed. But in a kind of sad way. Not pissed like James-pissed, but closer to Kirk-pissed, which was not a collection of words you got to say often.

“That’s probably a good idea,” Kirk said.

“Beat it, Newkid,” Lars said.

 Jason beat it. He needed to change, anyway, because he smelled pretty rank; last night’s show clothes, so he had the sweat, plus the drinking—basically, no fucking wonder people were avoiding him. So he headed home, he showered, and then figured he’d go and get something to eat.

And when he opened the door: Kirk.

Sitting on the floor like a kid who’d just gotten kicked out.

“You coulda knocked,” Jason said.

“I did.”

“Sorry,” Jason said. “I was in the shower.”

He shut the door behind him and sat down beside him. Kirk grinned a little at it. “Sorry about Lars,” he said. “He’s not mad at you, not really, and he doesn’t hate you, not really, he’s just—we’re all just—”

“Cliff.”

Kirk nodded. He sat with his knees pulled to his chest and he leaned forward and pressed his nose to one of them. He sat there in silence for a second, and then turned his face to look at Jason. “Me and Cliff—I freaked out on you this morning because—”

“Yeah,” Jason said. He didn’t want to hear it. He’d already heard the rumors about Kirk Hammett of Metallica being some kind of faggot, and getting to know him he wasn’t exactly surprised. Not that he had a problem with it. Obviously the dude made sure to keep himself in check. And he was a nice guy.

And honestly, if Jason had to pick a dude.

“The other guys have known for forever,” Kirk said. “Figured you should know at some point.”

“Is that why Lars keeps groping you?”

Kirk snorted. “Maybe. I dunno. He’s European, they’re weird. I mean, we’ve fooled around once or twice.”

“Okay,” Jason said. “What does James think about it?”

“Mostly ignores it,” Kirk said. He shrugged. “Doesn’t bother me as long as it doesn’t get me kicked out, right?”

Jason nodded, and they sat there for a couple of minutes in silence.

“I was gonna go get something to eat,” Jason said, breaking it. “If you wanted to come.”

“Christ, as long as it’s not whatever the hell Lars was eating.”


	3. The Problem III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> God damn it, Kirk's cute.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sometimes this shit just happens, idk

So they were friends.

Jason felt pretty confident in saying that he was Kirk Hammett’s friend. Maybe Kirk hung back when James and Lars were being douchebags, maybe Kirk didn’t defend him or do any of that shit friends were _supposed_ to do when you were an emotional punching bag for an entire band, but when Lars and James weren’t around, or sometimes even if just _James_ wasn’t around, Kirk and him slipped into this easy kind of friendship. Kirk was a nice guy. He was funny. He was a huge fucking dork.

Also, he was cute.

The fact that Jason thought that his guitarist was cute didn’t really hit him until one day when they showed up to work on some new songs at the same time one day. Normally Jason was dead last, because nobody would fucking _tell him_ when he was _supposed to be there_ , and then they’d get pissed at him when he was late, but Jason had taken to just heading in as soon as he woke up and waiting for James or Lars to head in. Normally they were first.

But today it was Kirk.

And it hit Jason, then, when Kirk grinned at him, that big fucking goofy grin, that Kirk was cute. Pretty as a girl—that was something he’d thought before. That was something all of them had thought before, Jason was pretty sure. Once some of the guys from some of the other local thrash bands had been talking about Metallica, and Jason didn’t know if they actually didn’t know he was the new bass player or just didn’t give a shit, but somehow, the subject turned to Kirk Hammett, and it seemed to be a pretty easy consensus:

Kirk Hammett was as pretty as a girl.

“Hey,” Kirk said. “You’re early.”

“Nobody ever tells me what time I’m supposed to be here,” Jason said. “I’m trying to make it a point to be here early.”

“It’s cool, we can work on some stuff before the James and Lars show arrives,” Kirk said. “If we’ve got something really good when they come…”

He trailed off, and they headed inside. Jason followed. Jason wasn’t _particularly_ tall (he considered himself average, but, to be honest—short end of average), but he also wasn’t scrawny, and Kirk, while he might’ve been at most an inch shorter than Jason—

Tiny guy.

Tiny guy with bouncy curls and a really enthusiastic way of talking, sometimes.

Cute.

They messed around for a couple of minutes, Kirk doing some weird improvised solo, Jason trying to compliment on bass.

“When are they showing up?” Jason asked. He checked his watch. Ten in the morning.

“One,” Kirk said.

“Fuck,” Jason muttered. “I could’ve slept.”

Kirk laughed. “We can get lunch, it’ll be nice.”

“Are you sure?”

Kirk looked at him, frowning, a little.

“I mean,” Jason said. “They—Lars, mostly, I think—kinda—I don’t think they like that we get along.”

Kirk shook his head. “It’s hard,” he said. “It’s fucking hard, okay, and I just—” He was all seriousness, now, fiddling with guitar strings, head ducked. “—I can see where they’re coming from. Lars, at least, when he talks about—when he gets on my ass about being nice to you. And I guess—James is—he’s a different kind of person, you know, than I am—”

“Yes, because I think James would rather shoot himself in the face than say any of this to me.”

Kirk shrugged. “Yeah.” He fiddled with the strings a little more. “Sorry I’m such a coward about the whole thing. We’re friends, and I should stop being such a bitch in front of them.”

Jason wanted to say, yeah, no shit, be a real friend, but when he tried, he found he actually couldn’t. The words actually got stuck in his throat, because he was pretty sure if he said that, Kirk would look at him all sad but wouldn’t defend himself or _anything,_ and Jason was not ready to be another person who told off Kirk Hammett.

So he took the bitch way out.

“What do you want for lunch?”

* * *

 

So, Jason knew it wasn’t a date.

He knew that they’d even gotten delivery, and he was with a friend, not a girlfriend, and it wasn’t a date. They were just two guys, and Kirk had happened to pay, because Kirk just liked burning through money, apparently, and Jason wasn’t about to argue with a free meal, even though it made him feel a little weird. And the fact that they were sitting on the floor next to each other, delivery containers between them, and the fact that Kirk kept stealing anything he’d decided on that was vegetarian, all of that—

It wasn’t a date.

Kirk was telling a story, something that one of the Anthrax guys had done or something, and the thing was, he kept trying to get to the good part of the story, and he kept laughing. It was enough to make Jason laugh at him, too, because he was just sitting on the floor, back of his hand pressed to his mouth, laughing and eating and trying to tell the rest of the story and, honestly, he’d been trying for so long that Jason barely even remembered how it started.

“Man—” Jason said. “Man, you can just—”

“No, I gotta tell this—” Kirk said. “I gotta—it’s the funniest fucking thing, and Frankie, he—fuck, man, it was just—”

And he looked really fucking cute.

And it wasn’t a date.

And Kirk swallowed the rest of his food, and closed his eyes, and put his hand down, and straightened his face. And Jason could still see his mouth twitching, a little, while he tried to calm himself down enough to tell the rest of the goddam story about whatever the hell Frank Bello of Anthrax had done, and it was twelve-forty-five.

And Jason kissed him.

Kirk’s eyes flew open and if there was a way to make the guy stop laughing.

Jason jerked back, his face feeling so hot he thought he might puke. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m sorry, that was—not—I did not plan to do that.”

Kirk swallowed. “Uh,” he said.

“I’m sorry,” Jason said.

Kirk checked the clock. “They’ll be here any second.”

“Let’s not talk about this—”

“Not right now,” Kirk said. “Not right now.”

“Or ever, or we can just not talk about this ever.”

Kirk made an agitated noise in the back of his throat, checked the clock one more time (twelve-forty-seven), and leaned forward and kissed Jason back. Grabbed him by the hair and everything. And this time Jason was actually paying attention to what was going on, not panicking (well, still panicking, but this time the kiss lasted longer than a millisecond), and yeah.

Yeah, kissing Kirk Hammett was pretty much how he’d figured it would be. Soft lips, tasted like their lunch, hands in his hair but mostly just to hold himself up, not to pull or control Jason in any way. Jason had the idea that Kirk had his hands on his hair just because he wanted to touch his hair, not because he wanted to yank Jason around by it.

The door rattled and Kirk used it to push away, rocketing off like he’d done it a million times before, and then he was eating again. There was a little flush in his cheeks, but he was shoveling food into his mouth like he hadn’t eaten in weeks, so Jason tried his best to do the same.

Except, he was definitely going to be useless the rest of the day.  


	4. The Problem IV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They didn’t talk about the kiss, but they got closer. And Jason was, to be honest, a little bit pissed that they hadn’t talked about it. He hadn’t brought it up, of course, why the fuck would he do that, but he’d expected Kirk to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'd completely forgotten i'd written three chapters for this, so it was a surprise to have three to re-read before i got back into it. anyway, i still don't know what i'm doing but i'm having fun.

They didn’t talk about the kiss, but they got closer. And Jason was, to be honest, a little bit pissed that they hadn’t talked about it. He hadn’t brought it up, of course, why the _fuck_ would he do that, but he’d expected Kirk to. They hung out together, _alone_ , enough, but Kirk always had an excuse to be using his hands for something else, something else to talk about (if Jason had to sit through the same fucking black-and-white horror movie one more time he was going to break the goddam VCR), and it never came up.

But they got closer.

And Kirk got better about it in front of the guys. In front of James, at least—he didn’t look guilty whenever they were talking and James walked in the room. He cut that shit out, at least. Jason honestly didn’t know what kind of fucked up situation he’d walked into, where Kirk had felt guilty for being nice in the first place, but he’d stopped.

It was enough for James to confront Jason about it.

“Newkid,” he said. It was just them—Jason had been early to the studio, again, and James had shown up first. “The fuck’s going on with you and Kirk?”

“Uh,” Jason said. “We’re… we… hang out?”

James gave him a long look, and Jason remembered that James knew that Kirk liked dudes (presumably alongside chicks—Jason had seen him go home more than once with a chick), and he turned red.

“You hang out,” James said. Completely deadpan.

“Y…es?” Jason said.

“Hm,” James said.

Didn’t say anything else, but Jason was tense until they broke for the day. Kirk, who was in a bouncy kind of mood, spent most of the time goofing off with Lars, came up to him at the end, registered his emotional radar, and glanced back at the other two. “You’re still poor as shit, right?” he said. “Want dinner?”

Jason wasn’t exactly ‘poor as shit’, but he wasn’t going to turn down a free meal, even with James glaring at him like that, so he nodded. “As soon as fucking possible, I’m starving,” he said, and so they got the fuck out of there, and as soon as they were out of earshot, Jason said, “James thinks we’re fucking.”

Kirk stumbled. “Huh?”

Voice a full octave higher than usual.

“He thinks we’re fucking,” Jason said.

Kirk shook his head, his curls going all over the place, grabbed Jason by the arm, and pulled him into some little café. There wasn’t a line, so they distracted themselves with the menu for a little bit, ordered, and then sat in the most tucked-away booth they could find. “How do you—why do you think he thinks we’re fucking?”

“Because before you and Lars got there today, he asked what was up with us, and he just _looked_ at me, and he knows, he’s got to know—”

“We’re not fucking though.”

“But we—” Jason dropped his voice even though there was literally nobody around. Force of habit. “—kissed. _Twice._ ”

“Yep,” Kirk said. “Yep, that happened.”

“And I—we haven’t, like, mentioned it, since then.”

“You said you didn’t wanna talk about it,” Kirk said. He shrugged and glanced back at the barista. “Figured you figured you’d made a mistake and just—I dunno. Didn’t wanna try and force you into something, you know?”

“Yeah, I wasn’t expecting you to listen to what I said about that,” Jason said. The thing was, even though they’d gotten closer, it had gotten—awkward. When they were alone, just the two of them. Maybe it was just Jason, but there was this tenseness between them when they were completely alone together now. Like when they watched movies at Kirk’s, or now.

“Why wouldn’t I listen to what you said about that?” Kirk said. “I mean, I know I can be kind of a pussy sometimes but I’m not an asshole. Not like that, I mean. I’m not—look, you’re in a weird position right now, and—”

“You didn’t want me to think I had to fuck you to be in the band?” Jason said.

Kirk turned a little red and nodded.

“Just ‘cause you’re just about my only friend up here doesn’t mean I’d do something like that if I didn’t want to,” Jason said. “Don’t get me wrong, I fucking love Metallica, and I’m, it’s still, you know, _wild_ that I’m playing with you guys. But if—I did—I—” Dropped his voice again. “—I kissed you because you looked really fucking cute, okay?”

Kirk turned a little redder. “Shut up,” he said.

“No, you did,” Jason said. “You were just—you were trying to tell that stupid story and you couldn’t get it out ‘cause you were laughing so hard and it was just—it was cute, all right?”

Kirk shook his head. The barista came over with Jason’s panini and Kirk’s vegetarian whatever, and tea for Kirk, coffee for Jason, and that let them take a break from it. “Do you…” Kirk started, broke off, and then shook his head and started again. “You wanna come over once we’re done?”

* * *

 

Kissing Kirk in the studio had been the first time Jason had kissed a guy. If he’d had thoughts about guys before Kirk, he’d buried them and pushed them aside and forgotten about them. So, pretty much, as soon as they got back to Kirk’s and Kirk locked the door, Jason was a little shaky. “Are you sure about this?” Kirk asked.

Jason didn’t really trust his voice not to crack, so he just nodded, and then Kirk Hammett grabbed him by the face and kissed him. Pulled him down the inch and a half or so they had between them and kissed him. Jason was faced with the brief dilemma of—oh fuck, what do you do with your _hands_ when you’re kissing a guy? They flailed for a little bit, and he eventually settled on Kirk’s hair. Cupped them around the back of his neck and then it was all instinct. Then it was, he whirled around and pushed Kirk up against the door and kissed him _hard._

Kirk gasped, a little, but he didn’t try and wriggle away or anything like that. His hands slipped down to clutch at Jason’s collar, and Jason broke the kiss for a second, Kirk still pressed so tight up against the door Jason could feel his heart beating, and stared straight at him. He could see his reflection in Kirk’s eyes.

“Are you sure about this?” Jason asked.

Kirk nodded, a little jerky. “I mean,” he said, his voice a little breathless. “I’m still—Cliff, you know, and—if we could—take it slow, that’d be—”

Jason nodded. “Yeah, yeah, we’re taking this slow,” he said. “I just—you’re the first guy I’ve ever like. Done any of this with.”

Kirk laughed, a little breathless, and then pushed himself up to kiss Jason again. “I have a movie—” he started.

“Have you made me watch it before?”

“Well—”

“I’ll watch your movies, but _please_ stop making me rewatch them.”


	5. The Problem V

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> God damn it, Lars.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You have no clue how difficult this was to write, just on a, putting fingers on the keyboard level. Maybe you do because of the quality, which is, might I add, NOT THAT FUCKING GREAT.

“So after the album’s done,” Kirk started. They were lying on their backs underneath his kitchen table, a couple of beers deep, both of them, and Kirk was trying to explain to him what his life was going to look like once the album was done. “We’ll go back on tour. And we will tour for roughly eighty fucking years. And there will be a lot of groupies. And blow, also. Lots of that. I—I dunno what we’ll use, if we’ll get a bus again or if we’ll be—if we’ll be bigger than that. I dunno. I don’t—exactly think any of us are too keen on the whole ‘bus ourselves around’ thing right now. I dunno. But then we’ll play about eight million shows and everything and then we’ll come back here and make the next album.”

“And then let me guess,” Jason said. “Eighty fucking years of touring.”

“Quick learner,” Kirk said. He glanced over at Jason and grinned. “Proud of you. If only you could learn the bassline to—”

“Shut the _fuck_ up,” Jason said, shoving Kirk a little, and Kirk shoved back, and pretty soon they were flat-out wrestling, knocking hard enough against the table legs that anything that Kirk had up there (beer bottles and mugs, Jason thought) started clinking against each other. “Look what you did now.”

Jason was on top.

“Look what _I_ did, look what _you—”_

And they were interrupted by the door.

“Shit,” Kirk muttered. He raised his voice. “Who is it?”

“It’s Lars!”

“What?” Kirk muttered. “Off.”

Jason got off. And then out from under the table, because that would be weird. He disappeared back into the bathroom, because he figured that it wouldn’t be the best if Lars saw him there, being all buddy-buddy with his guitarist.

He heard Kirk answer the door. And he heard Lars barge in. “We gotta talk, Kirk.”

“About what?”

“About how—you and—are you fucking Jason like you were Cliff?”

Jason fought the urge to put his head through the sink.

Kirk sputtered for a few seconds and eventually settled on “ _No._ ”

“But you guys—”

“We’re _friends_ , Lars, that’s it. Look, I’m sorry that I’m not as into beating the shit outa him as you guys are, but I don’t—I like him, he’s a nice guy and he—look, is that all you wanted? Have you heard of a goddam phone?”

Then Jason heard a really weird sound, and he peeked around the corner to see Lars, with his hand in Kirk’s collar, pulling him down, and the other hand on the back of Kirk’s head, and they were definitely kissing.

Well, shit.

* * *

Jason had left pretty quick after Lars—Kirk had made an excuse that Lars had to go, not that Lars really needed much of one after _that_ , and Jason had practically scrambled out the bathroom window to get away from that situation, and so the next time they were all in the studio, it was—

Awkward, to say the least.

Kirk and Lars wouldn’t look at each other. Jason couldn’t look at either Kirk _or_ Lars. Lars had no problem with Jason, because apparently he believed Kirk, and through it all, James was either completely oblivious or pretending to be, if only for his own sanity. Jason got it. Jason wished that he could be doing the same thing.

Eventually, though, James just stood up. “I’m gonna go eat something,” he said. “I’ll be back in an hour. Fucking stop it.”

Then he left.

Jason cleared his throat. “I’m—also gonna—go eat something—” he said. He figured that this was something that maybe Kirk and Lars could work out on their own. Kirk gave him those puppy-dog eyes, though, and he hesitated.

Lars: “Weren’t you leaving?”

Kirk: “You can stay.”

Jason: “I’m—I—Lars, I saw you kiss Kirk.”

“Never mind you can leave,” Kirk said. Lars was looking at him with eyes bigger than his cymbals, though, and Jason shifted from foot-to-foot. “I think that we should all leave and go get lunch and when we come back we don’t say _anything_ to James, and also we never look at each other again, and then we all go and make our _own_ bands, so that we never have to see each other again. How about that plan.”

“Why did you see that?” Lars said. “Why were you there?”

“I—uh—” Jason said.

Not going as he’d planned.

Kirk looked between the two of them, biting down hard on his lower lip. “I didn’t ask him to kiss me, Jase,” he said. “Case you didn’t see the part where he kinda just grabbed me.”

“Why are you apologizing to him?” Lars asked. “Why—oh, shit, I was right, wasn’t I? You two are fucking.”

“No,” Jason said. They haven’t exactly gotten that far. “No.”

“But you’re—okay, even if you’re not technically fucking, you’re—pretty much fucking.”

“How about we just do what I said,” Kirk said. Jason glanced over at him. He was pretty much bright red. “You know, the plan where we just leave? I’m gonna do that plan.” He stood up, but both Lars and Jason,

“Sit down.”

He sat down.

“Look,” Kirk said. “Look. I—Lars, I had no clue you were going to—I just thought you were like, fuckin’ weird or whatever. I dunno. And Jase, you—we already had this conversation.”

“Okay, prettiest girl at the ball,” Lars said. “Make it quick before James comes back. Just fuckin’ pick.”

Kirk blinked. “Pick?”

“You know,” Lars said. “Who do you want? Me or Newkid?”

“I don’t—Lars, I don’t really—I mean, we’re, but I don’t—I’m gonna go eat—” Kirk said, and he was up and out of there before either of them could say anything, leaving the two of them standing, awkward, in silence.

Jason cleared his throat. “Sorry,” he said.

Lars didn’t say anything. He just turned around and walked out, leaving Jason alone. Jason had brought lunch, because he didn’t need to be going out to eat _every goddam day_ , so he found that, sat on the floor, and started in on it.

Whatever he’d been expecting from Metallica, it hadn’t been this.


	6. The Problem VI

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So they were straight back at square one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this one was. slightly easier to write than the last one. it's shorter but hopefully it's better.

So they were straight back at square one. Worse than square one, since they’d been on square—four, or whatever, because this time square one came with all the knowledge of what kissing Kirk Hammett was _like_ , and what being close with Kirk Hammett was _like,_ and now Kirk was mostly spending a lot of time with James, who didn’t really seem to know what to do with this but wasn’t exactly trying to kick him to the curb.

“I’m gonna go get lunch,” James said at about one or two a couple of days after the confrontation. Kirk jumped to his feet.

“I’ll come, too!”

“I’m going to a steakhouse,” James said.

“That’s fine. Come on. I have an idea for some riffs. Come on, let’s go,” Kirk said, and James went. He looked confused, but he went. Kirk didn’t look at either Lars or Jason as he went, which was kind of shitty, and kind of stupid, and Lars glared.

“It’s not my fault he’s avoiding this,” Jason said.

“If you weren’t here—”

“If I weren’t here, what? Were you just waiting for something to happen to—” Jason cut himself off, then, because he’d been about to say something shitty. Something real shitty. Lars wasn’t stupid, though; he could be kind of single-minded, but he wasn’t an actual idiot, and he followed Jason’s train of thought and jerked to his feet.

“C’mon, Newkid,” he said. “What were you gonna say?”

“Nothing,” Jason said. “I wasn’t—”

“What were you going to say? Were you gonna ask if I was waiting for something to happen to Cliff, because that’s really fucking shitty, because we _all_ loved Cliff. And we’re not the fucking usurper, either, by the way—”

“You _hired_ me—”

“And if more shit like this comes out of your mouth I’m going to _fire_ you—”

“Oh, and what are you gonna tell James? I fired Newkid because he got to make out with Kirk and I didn’t? How’s James gonna react to that, huh?”

Lars opened his mouth but, for pretty much the first time since Jason had met him, he didn’t have anything to say. He just snapped his mouth shut and stalked toward the door. Jason figured he was going to lunch. He didn’t really care, though.

Dude could go to Hell for all he cared.

* * *

So it was awkward when lunch was over. Jason had packed a lunch, again—without Kirk buying him takeout he was mostly eating peanut butter sandwiches. Which wasn’t, like, _bad_ , he liked peanut butter sandwiches, he just liked Chinese takeout with Kirk on the floor better. It had only really been two days since their whole thing had gotten fucked, but it had sucked hard enough to feel like longer than that.

James and Kirk came back easy enough. Kirk’s eyes flicked around the room. “Lars not back yet?”

“No,” Jason said. This wasn’t especially weird, sometimes Lars would be gone for. A while when it came to breaks.

“Are you guys gonna be bitches all afternoon, too?” James asked, point-blank, and Jason grimaced. “Seriously. I don’t know what happened, and I don’t know why all three of you are acting weird, but stop it. I’m trying to record a fucking album.”

“Sorry,” Kirk muttered. Jason nodded. They hung around for a while before they all kind of accepted that Lars wasn’t coming back—worked on a couple of riffs, and everything, until at four, James scowled.

“Okay, I guess we’re calling it a day, then,” he said. “I’ll see you fuckers tomorrow. I’ll come with Lars or his dead body, whichever it ends up being.”

And he left.

“What happened?” Kirk asked Jason.

Jason shrugged. “Said some shit. He got pissed. I got pissed. He said he was gonna fire me.”

“What’d he tell the rest of us if he fired you, though? Like—”

“What’s his family-friendly excuse? No fucking clue, that’s probably why he never came back, because he didn’t think of one,” Jason said. Kirk crossed his arms and looked at the floor. “None of this shit is your fault, you know.”

“Kinda is.”

“No, it’s—” Jason started. Because like, technically it was, but it wasn’t like Kirk could help it. “It’s not your fault you’re—”

“I’m what?”

“You know,” Jason said. Kirk looked at him, one eyebrow cocked, and maybe for the first time in a while, he looked about ready to start laughing.

“No, I don’t. What am I, Jason?”

“You’re—you know,” Jason said. He could feel himself turning red. “Cute. You know.”

Kirk grinned wide enough for his dimples and his fucked-up teeth to really shine. “Liar,” he said.

“I’m not fucking _lying_ , man, I thought I was straight until I met you,” Jason said.

Kirk snorted. “Sure,” he said. “I’m probably  just the latest in a long line of curly-haired guitarists.”

“If I’ve been into any other guitarists, they’ve been chicks.”

“Chicks who play guitar are pretty hot,” Kirk said.

“Yeah, they are,” Jason said. “Until they’re better than you, and then it’s just awkward.”

Kirk shrugged. It was quiet for a couple seconds.

“So,” Jason said. “Do you—are we friends again?”

“Yeah,” Kirk said. “But I—maybe we should. You know. Cool it otherwise.”

Even though it made his heart drop into his stomach, Jason nodded. Because he could see the sense in it. No point in breaking up the band over a hard-on. “Yeah, all right,” he said. “You gotta talk to Lars, though. He was being a real bitch.”


	7. The Problem VII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jason didn’t know what Kirk said to Lars, but it did get better. And it was nice to have Kirk as a friend again—they still hung out, Kirk still bought him takeout for lunch seventy-five per cent of the time, they could talk and get to know each other and it was great and Jason still thought about kissing him all the time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i dont knowwwwww

Jason didn’t know what Kirk said to Lars, but it did get better. And it was nice to have Kirk as a friend again—they still hung out, Kirk still bought him takeout for lunch seventy-five per cent of the time, they could talk and get to know each other and it was great and Jason still thought about kissing him all the time. It was little things, you know; he’d notice how good Kirk’s ass looked in his jeans, or he’d notice how good he looked when he laughed, like especially when there was a joke he didn’t get _immediately_ , and it would come on him slowly, and he’d just grin all slow and—

And so he was fucked, pretty much.

James had, it appeared, accepted that things were as normal as they were ever gonna be, and he was powering ahead, full steam. The album was going well. Everything was going well.

And then they all got fucking hammered.

It just sort of happened, you know; James brought a case of beer and then someone went out for some more beer and then vodka and rum and everything started getting added into the mix, and then they were all completely shitfaced, at the studio, at eight at night. Kirk was lying on his back with his guitar across his body, blinking slowly up at the ceiling. Lars was still trying to play. James was halfway to the door to get another six-pack, or four of them.

“Kirk,” Lars said. “Kirk, watch me play.”

“You suck,” Kirk said. His fingers trailed over the guitar strings.

“Not as much as _you_ do,” Lars shot back. He dropped a drumstick. “Aw, fuck.”

“You suck,” Kirk said again.

“ _I’m_ not the one who was fucking Newkid, so—”

James dropped his keys. Jason nearly dropped his bass. Kirk’s hands clutched at his guitar reflexively. Lars looked around at all of them, his eyes wide, and then dropped his other drumstick.

“I never fucked Jason,” Kirk said. His voice cracked.

“He never did,” Jason said. He felt like maybe he should be a part of this conversation, as much as he wanted to instead ram his head through a window. “We never—Lars, you _kissed_ him.”

“Well, so did you,” Lars said.

“Why,” James said. “Why are you all kissing Kirk? God damn it, I knew something weird was going on. God _damn_ it. I need more beer. I’m going to go get more beer. Figure this out so I don’t have to—hear you guys fight over my fucking guitarist, or whatever it is you’re going to do. Agh.”

He stooped, picked up his keys, and was out of there as fast as humanly possible. Kirk let out a long breath through his nose. “Why’d you have to bring that up?” he said. “Why couldn’t we just—not?”

“Because I’m—because you said that you were gonna stop and you guys went right back to it and it’s not fair,” Lars said.

“Okay, no, we’re just friends,” Jason said. “That’s all, we’re just friends.”

“You’re saying you haven’t kissed Kirk _once_ since—”

“Yeah, that’s what I’m saying!”

Lars scowled at him. Kirk pushed himself up to sit, very calmly set his guitar on the floor, and looked like _he_ was about ready to put his head through a window. “I pick neither of you,” he said. “You’re both being dicks, I’m gonna go—go downtown and pick up some fucking glam rocker or something.”

And he left, too. Lars grabbed both of his drumsticks. Jason stood up. “I’m gonna go home,” he said. He figured it was best that he do that instead of wait for Lars to jam one of the drumsticks straight through his eye.

* * *

To his credit, Kirk did still try to be friends. It was just hard. And Jason just felt weird about it. He didn’t like Kirk buying him food anymore, so he didn’t let him. Even when Kirk insisted that he, “at least get an apple or something, Jesus Christ Jason you’re going to get _scurvy_ ,” Jason held steady (but he did bring more fruit with his lunches). James had either forgotten everything or chosen to pretend he had, because he was back to normal.

Lars was…

Well, beating pretty hard on those drums, Lars was.

Jason didn’t know if Kirk had found some glam rocker to fuck, or if he just said “I have to go meet my friend” when he wanted out of a situation, or if he just had made a new friend, or if he had a girlfriend—Jason didn’t know. He didn’t ask. None of them asked.

But tour was coming up. And tour would bring a couple of things, namely, an inability to get away from each other, and distance from whatever friend Kirk had _made_ , if they even _existed,_ and the release of the _album_ , and Jason was starting to stress a little bit, to put it simply. He was excited, yeah—he was excited to get to do a real tour with real songs that he’d played on a real album with fucking _Metallica_ , but he was nervous.

But such was life.


	8. The Problem VIII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first show of their tour went, to put it simply, really fucking well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm sorry this chapter is so short and is like, kind of an exposition-y chapter? i don't know what's going on, it felt done so i stopped it.

The first show of their tour went, to put it simply, really fucking well. Maybe it was because they were all just so pissed off that it bled into their playing—Jason knew that Kirk, in particular, liked to channel any and every negative emotion through his guitar, but they kicked ass. They slammed through each and every song like crazy. New shit, old shit—if anyone missed a note, nobody noticed. So they all got offstage breathless and higher than a fucking kite. And Lars forgot himself and slammed into Kirk from the side, wrapping an arm around his waist and sending them both sideways. Kirk staggered, a little, and maybe this was normal like, _before_ the whole ‘everyone fights over Kirk’ thing, but now James just looked like he was going to throw himself off of a building.

Jason could relate, he felt like he was going to throw himself off of a building, too.

It was bull, you know, that they kind of had to watch themselves around Kirk now. And Lars realized maybe fifteen seconds after he already kind of had Kirk all wrapped up, but at that point he wasn’t going to let go, and Kirk was too happy and too excited and, honestly, he had been looking slightly depressed about the fact that nobody would even touch him anymore, because he just leaned straight into it. And they just sort of fell into a heap.

The thing was, Jason knew that this was just, like, whatever. Except he couldn’t stop picturing Lars kissing Kirk. And he knew that they were just being stupid, wrestling, whatever, but the scene of the two of them wriggling around on the ground, both of them absolutely soaked with sweat and Lars down to his underwear and shoes, because by the end of a show Lars was almost _always_ down to just his underwear and shoes, was both jealousy-inducing and disturbingly hot.

Like, he’d gotten used to the fact that Kirk turned him on. Adding Lars to the equation made it fucking _weird_.

“Newkid,” James said. “C’mon. Let’s go get drunk.”

* * *

It was weird to hang out with James. Mostly because, at this point, Jason was figuring that if James was ignoring him it was a good day. It had gotten a lot better, at least until the weird Kirk fight had started, over time—or maybe Jason had just gotten better at keeping his head down. But James could be flat-out _nasty_ sometimes, especially when he got drunk, so there was a little bit of trepidation bumping around in Jason’s chest as they went. There was booze backstage, of course, and they nabbed some of that as a pre-game, but James brought them to a bar and parked Jason and got them more booze.

“You’re causing fucking problems,” he said, finally.

“To be fair,” Jason said. “I’ve really distanced myself.”

“Well, I can’t fucking kick out Lars, it’s his goddam band,” James snapped. Jason flinched, a little bit. Had he been brought out here to be fired? Was this like—a plan? The show had gone really fucking well, though. “And I don’t wanna kick you out so that we have to get used to some other fucking loser who we all know won’t come anywhere _near_ —”

“Yeah,” Jason said.

“—and so we’re stuck with you. But you gotta get used to how Lars feels up Kirk. He takes it a little farther than, you know, _I_ would, but he wasn’t even being weird back there, and you were staring at them like—you fucking know. Knock it off.”

Jason swallowed a couple of times and nodded. He had a drink, didn’t really know where it came from, and he held it so tight he was scared the glass was going to break. James got up, then, and left. Left the entire bar. Didn’t even say goodbye.

Also, left Jason with the tab, so fuck him.


	9. The Problem IX

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jason was heading into the bathroom just as Kirk was coming out—that kind of awkward, stupid fucking meet-cute that caused them both to kind of try and take steps to the back and to the side, and eventually Kirk just grinned, grabbed Jason by the shoulders, and physically moved him to the left so that Kirk could take the right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> honestly this is just going around in circles at this point so probably i'm gonna end it within the next couple chapters ONE WAY or ANOTHER

Jason was heading into the bathroom just as Kirk was coming out—that kind of awkward, stupid fucking meet-cute that caused them both to kind of try and take steps to the back and to the side, and eventually Kirk just grinned, grabbed Jason by the shoulders, and physically moved him to the left so that Kirk could take the right. And Jason couldn’t help himself. As Kirk was heading off, he reached out and grabbed his wrist. Kirk glanced back. “What’s up?”

Jason opened his mouth, pretty much realized he had nothing to say, and pulled Kirk into the bathroom behind him. Kirk went willingly enough, and when the door swung shut behind them and Jason kissed him, he kissed back willingly enough. Brought his free hand up to the back of Jason’s neck and everything.

And then he jerked back, his face flaming. Jason could feel heat flood his face, too. “Sorry,” he said. “I’m—sorry.”

“I, uh,” Kirk said. “We were gonna like. Not.”

“I know,” Jason said. “I know. I’m sorry. I just—I just—”

“Do you need like,” Kirk said. “To get laid?” Seeing Jason’s face, he scrambled to keep going. “I mean, honestly, there are so many girls out there, or if you wanna experiment more with guys, I know some guys that are honestly really good and really nice and everything. Or do you like, just, like, wanna meet some of the other bands? Have you gotten close with anyone? Do you—”

“Okay, you’re not my mom and I don’t need you trying to make friends for me,” Jason said. “I get along fine with people.” He did get along fine with people. He’d met the _Anthrax_ guys and they were pretty cool, all of them very chill and everything. He’d met a couple of guys from _Guns’n’Roses_ , the drummer and the bass player, the blond ones, at least, and they were—well, they were fun. There were about a thousand other guys from a thousand other bands that he’d met, too, and he hadn’t really had a problem. And maybe he was a little lonely—still a little homesick, or something. Maybe that’s why he was latching so hard onto Kirk.

Or maybe it was because Kirk was so _goddam fucking good-looking and just, like, fucking great._

“Why do you let what they say run what you do?”

Kirk blinked. “What?”

“Lars and James,” Jason said. “Do you want to fuck Lars?”

“Uh,” Kirk said. He was bright red again. He’d calmed down, a little bit, but all of the blood was straight back up to his face. “I mean—”

“Do you—do you like me?”

“I do,” Kirk said.

“Then why do you let them tell you that you can’t—”

“I don’t wanna ruin things,” Kirk said. “It would be so fucking dumb if this band survived losing _Cliff_ and I broke it up because I couldn’t keep my hands off the new bass player. I don’t wanna ruin things. And I _like_ Lars, he’s my friend, and I don’t want to—I don’t want him to cut me off because of you. I like you, and you’re hot, and you’re a good kisser, and I wish—I wish—I gotta go.”

And he ducked out of there.

* * *

Jason figured that his best plan of action at this point would be to completely avoid James as much as humanly possible, mostly because James was the one guy in the band who could definitely kick his ass, and then go for Lars and see what was up with him. That wasn’t like, probably the _best_ plan, the best plan would probably be to try and forget any feelings he had for Kirk whatsoever, but—it seemed like the best plan. Because he didn’t want to forget any feelings he had for Kirk and, anyway, all the sad looks Kirk was giving him, whether it was on  purpose or not, were making it really damn hard. So the next time he walked into a room and it was just Lars sitting there, on the back of a couch, eating a sandwich, Jason closed his eyes for a second and went for it.

“We gotta talk.”

Lars looked at him. “About what.”

“You know.”

“We don’t gotta talk about that,” Lars said. “Get the fuck outta here.”

“We gotta talk about it,” Jason said. He crossed his arms. He didn’t know how this tiny, almost girlish-looking weirdo made him feel small, but he _did._ “We gotta talk about it, because it’s making Kirk sad.”

“Oh, right,” Lars said. “Like you care so much about his emotional state. I’m not gonna talk about this with you. We agreed to just leave it alone. Leave it at that. Get the fuck outta here.”

“I—”

The door blew open behind him and Jason jumped—it was James, so he busied himself with being on the other side of the room pretty quickly. James looked between the two of them, apparently saw nothing amiss (Lars had gone back to his sandwich pretty fast and readily), and went on with his life.

And there was still no goddam closure.


	10. The Problem X

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It went on like that for most of the tour.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is called, i decided i was going to finish this before it went in circles for another ten thousand words. so here's the end! i gave kirk all of the agency because he's had NONE this ENTIRE time. also i swear to god i don't hate lars, no matter how bad he comes across here. 
> 
> and yes, i did that on purpose with james's last bit of dialogue
> 
> /some kind of monster plays in the background

It went on like that for most of the tour. Jason would try to work up the balls to talk to Lars about this shit or waffle between trying to get Kirk to kiss him and trying to forget that he’d _ever_ kissed Kirk, he would fail at everything he tried, James would get increasingly more irritated with everything that was happening, Kirk would just keep looking like a kicked puppy, and Lars—

Okay, to be honest, Lars was kind of just being exactly the same way he’d been the entire time that Jason had known him. It would be admirable if it wasn’t so fucking annoying.

They played well. Again with the aggression—Jason wasn’t so self-centered to think that it was all about him fucking everything up with band incest, he was sure that at least eighty-five percent of at least _their_ intensity was about Cliff’s death, but he was pretty sure that he was playing a part, and also, about eighty-five percent of _his_ intensity was pure sexual frustration, so that was, you know. Something.

Jason was pretty sure that they were all never going to talk about it ever again and it would be something that would just die whenever the band did.

And then Kirk locked them all in the dressing room backstage after one of their shows.

* * *

“Dude,” James said. “I was gonna—”

“Don’t care,” Kirk said.

James blinked at him. Probably he wasn’t used to Kirk talking back to anyone and meaning it, let alone him. Joking around? Sure, dude had a sense of humor. Kirk Hammett looking at you dead in the eye and telling you that he didn’t care about what your plans were, it’s his town now?

Little weird.

“O…kay,” James said. He crossed his arms. “Is this about Newkid? Because if it is, I don’t know why I need to be here, because that seems like a you guys thing.”

“Good point, but I don’t have the key, and they’re not letting us out for a solid hour and a half.”

“Motherfucker,” James muttered. He glanced around, laid down on a bench, and put his arm over his eyes. “Whatever. I’m gonna sleep. Wake me up when we can leave and get shitfaced.”

Lars, who had been curiously quiet this entire time, burst out, then: “What the fuck, man? I thought we settled it. I thought we were just—”

“We didn’t settle it,” Kirk said.

“Have you guys been—”

“No.”

“Well—”

“Jason,” Kirk said, glancing at him, and Jason shrugged. He didn’t know what Kirk wanted him to do—shut up Lars, say something, ram through the wall so that they could all escape (but the walls were thick, if they weren’t, James probably woulda tried). So he just shrugged.

“Why are you turning to him? He’s not—he’s not _Cliff,_ Kirk, and you can’t fucking expect him to be!”

“I don’t,” Kirk said. “I don’t. I just don’t hate him for not being Cliff.”

“That’s because you’re—”

“I’m _not_ ,” Kirk said.

“Stop _talking_ about it,” James muttered from under his arm. “Stop _yelling_.”

“Look,” Lars said. “It was whatever when you and Cliff were fucking. Like, little weird, okay, but it was Cliff. And—and—it’s _different_ now, with this kid, because—because—”

“How,” Jason said, shocking himself by speaking. “How is it different?”

Lars scowled. “Because you don’t deserve to.”

“Deserve to?” Jason said.

“Yeah, _deserve_ to?” Kirk echoed. “What the fuck, Lars.”

Lars had color high in his cheeks, and he looked remarkably childlike. He looked like a kid who’d just gotten a toy yanked from him, was what he looked like. He looked like someone who was very used to getting their way.

James muttered something that sounded suspiciously like: “ _Fuck_ you guys.”

“And if he won’t pick, and you won’t—”

“I’m picking right now,” Kirk said. “That’s why I locked us in here.”

“Oh,” Lars said.

Jason’s heart jumped into his throat. He didn’t wanna be like, too optimistic, but he was thinking that maybe the way that Lars had just acted might have knocked him down a few pegs. Except for Kirk had known Lars for a while, so—

Well, he didn’t know.

“You can just fuck neither of them,” James said from under his arm. “You know. That’s something you could do.”

“That didn’t work out too well,” Kirk said.

“How about we keep trying that one.”

Kirk looked like he might just bend, and Jason moved between the two of them. Lars’s eyes flickered around the room, and he shook his head. “You’re picking him.”

“I—yeah,” Kirk said.

Lars blew out a long breath. “Why?”

“He showers, for one,” Kirk said, trying for some levity, and Lars snorted. “No, I just, I mean—I like him, man, I do. And—”

“Can I _please_ be let out of this fucking room—”

“—and it’s just, I’ve never, you’ve never, I’ve never thought about _you_ —”

“— _I’m going to fucking kill myself I swear to God—”_

“—like that, at least, I mean—”

“— _I don’t want to be hearing this_ —”

“—and—Jason, will you give him a Walkman or something so he shuts the fuck up?” Kirk snapped, finally, and Jason dug around in his shit until he came up with a Walkman. He tossed it to James, who gave him a sour look and put on the earphones and hit play.

“Shitty music, Newkid,” he said.

“It can get the radio, listen to the radio,” Jason muttered.

But that shut him up, at least.

Kirk turned back to Lars. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m sorry. I just—this is just, you know, what I want.”

“Yeah?” Lars said. “Newkid’s what you want.”

It wasn’t a question.

“Yeah.”

Jason held back his grin because he was pretty sure that Lars would brain him with a chair if he didn’t.

“Okay,” Lars said. He shook his head and went to sulk in a corner.

Kirk sidled back up to Jason. “That didn’t take as long as I thought it would,” he muttered. “I told him to come back in an hour and that took like, fifteen minutes.”

“Yeah,” Jason said. He cleared his throat and pointed at the air ducts. “It sounds stupid but you’re pretty small.”

So Kirk got them out. Jason gave him a boost, they all (except James, who might actually have been asleep at that point) listened to him curse, and in ten minutes he was opening the door from the other side, redfaced and out of breath. “Fuck you,” he said to Jason. “That was a terrible idea.”

James shoved past them all, slapping the Walkman back into Jason’s hand as he went. “I’m never listening to any of you talk about your feelings ever again,” he said. “I am never sitting down in a room with _any_ of you for _any_ amount of time so that we can _talk about our fucking feelings, ever, in my entire fucking life_.”

Lars left next. He didn’t say anything.

Kirk glanced at Jason. “You wanna go get something to drink?”

“Yeah,” Jason said. Before they left the relative safety of backstage, though, he threw an arm around Kirk’s neck and kissed him. It wasn’t a long kiss, or anything; it was just kind of normal.

Kirk kissed him back.


End file.
